


kisses falling over me like stars

by mushishis



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Multi, got lots of poetry in it, man i don't know what to tell you it's gay at least, very very brief mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushishis/pseuds/mushishis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>him pressing against<br/>me, his lips at my neck, and yes, i do believe<br/>his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me<br/>like stars. names of heat and names of light,<br/>names of collision in the dark, on the side of the<br/>bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen<br/>on jeans and hands and the backs of matchbooks</p>
            </blockquote>





	kisses falling over me like stars

**Author's Note:**

> here's a polyfrogs fic for zoie (karasunos)!! merry, merry (late) christmas! i hope you enjoy it!!  
> -  
> title/summary is from "saying your names" by richard siken
> 
> (and yeah! nursey has two moms in this fic. they go by mom and ma)

Derek’s moms say they put books in his lap before he could hardly babble. Dr. Seuss’ countless stories, _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Where the Wild Things Are,_ and nearly every book Eric Carle had written found a home in his room. (Unfortunately, they were at the expense getting drooled on until he was older.) Soon enough, each Shel Silverstein book published under the sun had a special spot in his bookshelf. Spines broken in two, pages dog-eared to the point of tearing and juice spilled time and time again decorated each one. He remembers sitting cross-legged, making a game out of the rhymes and rhythms of each poem for hours.

He remembers some poems made him feel something in a way he couldn’t explain with words. Later, his mom teaches him about the word melancholy. About how it fills every fiber of his being with a feeling of aching, makes him miss things he’s never had.

He remembers the same poem, word for word, that he’s had sitting in his chest with a quiet heaviness since he was six years old. He remembers repeating it to his moms to prove he memorized it.

“ _It’s called Underface.”_

_“Is that so? And you have it memorized?”_

_“Yeah! Listen,” –_ Taking a deep breath, voice high and clear like a flute –

_Underneath my outside face_   
_There’s a face that none can see._   
_A little less smiley,_   
_A little less sure,_   
_But a whole lot more like me._

He remembers them smiling at him, proud and beaming with the unending affection they always gave, but that small pebble of melancholy settling itself inside his ribcage.

It’s when he meets Chris, grinning and bright, when he meets Will, suspicious and explosive, that he understands why he’s always felt so unsteady about it.

-

“Samwell? In Massachusetts?”

Derek shrugs, placing his mom’s plate in front of him before grabbing his ma’s and piling food on it. “I have a friend that goes there and the school has a really great program. Super liberal, too – way better than Andover.”

His mom frowns, pushing dark curls out of her face. “Derek-“

“I know, school’s great, but those _guys_ , mom. Besides, it’s a good distance. I can still visit.” He sits down at the table and pulls his legs to a cross-legged position before taking a bite of his dinner. His parents share a look before his ma starts.

“As long as you’re happy, love. You know that’s all we care about.” Her smile is soft and clever, lopsided enough to only reveal one of her dimples, just like his. “Follow your dreams, reach for the sky, et cetera, et cetera.” 

Derek grins back, glances at the words painted above her head on the wall. They all painted it together when he was 11 and went through what his parents refer to as “The Huge Hughes Happening of 2007”.

_Hold fast to dreams_   
_For if dreams die_   
_Life is a broken-winged bird_   
_That cannot fly._   
_Hold fast to dreams_   
_For when dreams go_   
_Life is a barren field_   
_Frozen with snow._

_-Langston Hughes, Dreams_

Each line of the poem was written with their handwriting, varying between his ma’s formal script, mom’s simple, scrawling style, and his own young, messy lettering. Three handprints under the poem with his in the middle. This poem, it weighed itself in the small of his back, smarting after particularly rough days and offering comfort in late nights, the quiet hours when most of his biggest decisions were made.

His mom nudged his foot under the table, offered that knowing smirk that implied she knew exactly what he was thinking about. She probably did. He prodded back.

“Thanks, ma.”

-

_i wandered lonely as a cloud-_

Derek’s got the same stanza from Wordsworth playing through his head relentlessly when he first meets Chris and William – Chowder and Dex. He’s waiting for the tour at Samwell to start, sitting on a bench outside of Faber, leaning forward and watching parents and students mill around.

_lonely as a cloud  
when all at once I saw a crowd_

Chowder is the first to walk up to him, carrying with him an energetic intensity that suggests they’ve been friends for years. Derek can’t help but glance around, see if anyone else is sitting next to him that he didn’t notice.

_a… something. A heap? ... something like that._  
  
_of golden daffodils_

“Are you here for the hockey team?”

_golden daffodils_

Derek glances up at him, takes in the San Jose Sharks hoodie and cap combination, young face, braces. He’s smiling with complete guileless intent, rocking slightly on his heels. He notices a set of parents behind him, talking casually and looking right at home.

“Yeah. You from Cali?” Derek responds, nodding at the hoodie. And, Christ, if Chowder doesn’t light up at that.

_golden daffodils_

“Yeah! Oh man, do you like the Sharks? Probably not, where are you from again? Oh, sorry, I’m Chris. Chris Chow! I’m a goalie. What do you play?” Chowder goes and goes with each question prompting another before he can wait long enough to get an answer.

Derek presses the pads of his fingers together, watching the kid ramble as a smile cracks across his face. Would he stop by himself if no one else did? Chowder pauses, laughs as if they just shared an inside joke. “Sorry! I didn’t get your name.”

_golden daffodils_

_oh my god, shut up about the daffodils._

Derek takes the chance to stand up and extend an arm to him. “Derek Nurse. More of a Rangers fan. I’m from Manhattan, uptown. I’m a defenseman. Nice to meet you, man.” Derek doesn’t hesitate between each answer, somehow managing to have remember each question. Probably thanks to the same memory that got him 5’s on nearly all his AP exams.

They continue for a few minutes, Chowder amazed that Derek came all by himself, that he knows someone on the team here, and _Oh my GOD aren’t you excited to meet Jack Zimmerman?!_ Derek’s admittedly a little winded from trying to keep up with Chowder’s fast paced banter, though he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. Eventually more people begin to crowd around. Derek catches red hair out of the corner of his eye and turns to come face to face with a lanky kid, freckles splayed across every part of visible skin. He came alone, too, and looks more than uncomfortable when Chowder whips around and starts chattering at him. He has his arms crossed and brow furrowed as Chowder pulls the same, “Hey!! Where’re you from what team do you like what’s your position what’s your name I’m Chris-“

He mutters a vague, “William Poindexter. Team back home calls me Dex,” and looks relieved when a small girl swallowed up by the group of tall players pipes out, “Alright, everyone! Name’s Larissa Duan. I’m the Samwell Hockey team’s manager. Let’s get started…”

Derek feels those damn daffodils twisting his stomach as he finds himself continuously glancing back at Dex and Chowder.

When he meets up with Shitty, they stand right behind him and his fingers involuntarily twitch with inexplicable nervousness.

-

Derek is 15 years old when his father tries to convince him to leave his moms and move in with him in New Jersey.

Convince is too kind a word.

Derek spends a full day in his room, going through the typical motions that come with talking to his father. First comes anger. He remembers his psychology teacher calling anger a secondary emotion, covering up the primary, the real, the raw emotions that threaten to spill out once anger fades. Panic, doubt, fear, all cycling until he finds himself staring at the ceiling with apathy hollowing out his stomach. His ma comes in once he’s fallen asleep to pull a blanket over him – this hasn’t been the first time his father has shown up unprecedented and uninvited, and they’re sure it isn’t the last. Exhausted eyes open to follow her movements and he croaks out, “Ma.” He sits up slowly and tries to ignore the pounding behind his temple.

He hates that she looks so tired, like she’s aged five years in a day. He hates the sad look she gives him. He hates that the first words out of her mouth are “I’m sorry”.

He’ll never say it, but he hates his father for always doing this to them.

Derek stares at the bookshelf across the room bursting with novels and worn books when ma hoarsely talks to him about everything they don’t want to talk about. He feels himself slipping. His eyes are focused on how _The Catcher in the Rye_ is poking out of the top shelf and how everyone in class hated Holden and how every time Holden talked about killing himself Derek had to shut the book and stop reading for at least an hour and how he felt sick every time someone brought it up and how the phrase _people are always ruining things for you_ lodged itself between his eyes and gave him a migraine while his father yelled at him and-

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He holds that day deep inside himself and finds different ways to forget about it, instead.

-

The countless books Derek had to read in high school always melted together and faded after a month away from the topic. One of them always seemed to go on about how friendships form in a fluid sense, how there’s no precise pin in time that points to the start. It could have been _Fahrenheit 451,_ or _The Great Gatsby._ Maybe _To Kill a Mockingbird._ It wasn’t important enough to think about. What was really important was how Dex and Chowder crept on him, messy as that was.

 First semester, Dex wanted to punch Derek. Derek, admittedly, wanted to punch Dex. He was cute, Derek would give him that. But the nonsense that came from his mouth was tiring. He and Shitty spent a long semester teaching Dex how ridiculous he managed to sound. Chipping away, day after day, finally wore him down and Derek could see how he seemed more and more unsure about the things he was saying. He got infinitely better; Derek even caught him having a casual conversation about heteronormativity around mouthfuls of pecan pie with Shitty and Chowder by late November.

The three of them grab lunch – every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday – before walking to their respective classes together. Nursey makes a point to try not to be late. ( _Tries_. Chowder doesn’t mind. Dex only complains a little bit.) They share the ice more often once the coaches see how their plays have finally matched up with one another. Derek gets into squabbles with Dex, of course. Seeing him worked up was still kind of entertaining. (But Chowder notices the way they’ve been stopping abruptly, whatever chirp Derek had in mind dying on his lips as he watches Dex with wide eyes.)

Regardless of bonding, the fact still stands that Dex wanted to punch Derek fall semester. He probably would have if he didn’t care about how Chowder would have reacted. Not that he would admit that he cares about Chowder that much, but he does. Derek sees it in the way their heads softly knock close, as if conspiring, when working together on their classwork. He sees it in the way Chowder touches Dex and Dex doesn’t shy away. He notices that Dex leaned into Chowder’s side during a movie when he thought no one else was watching.

Derek can’t look at them and he feels succinct jealousy prick him. He’s annoyed at how his neck feels so warm.

-

He’s seventeen years old and everything in the house is filled with the type of thick warm that can only come from the sunset. It lazily drapes itself across rugs and walls and paintings and douses the world scarlet. His mom is curled on the couch in the living room, his ma’s head in her lap. Derek sits on the floor with his back against the couch, reading while his ma’s fingers easily card through his hair. The words aren’t registering as much as they’re creating white noise in his head.

“What are you reading, love?”

Derek smiles. If he’s heard that once, he’s heard it a million times.

“Elizabeth Barrett Browning. You wouldn’t like her.”

His mom snorts. “Do you hear this boy, Kaja? Acting like he’s known me for seventeen years or something.” She cocks her head. “Read some.”

Derek laughs, light and amused. Breathes in, then out. Once more.

_“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._  
 _I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_  
 _My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_  
 _For the ends of Being and ideal Grace._  
 _I love thee to the level of-_ “

“Okay, okay, you were right. You can stop,” his mom interjects, waving her hand and stirring the heavy air.

He grins and rolls his head back to look at her. “Too many ‘thees’?”

“Sweetheart, no offense, but I don’t know how you stomach that old English. Can’t you recite some Angelou or something?”

“This was for class.”

“It’s late July.”

“Key word being ‘was’. I got hooked.”

His mother sighs. “Oh, love, bless the heart of whoever falls in love with you. They’re signing up for a whole lot of ‘thee’ and ‘thou’.”

Ma taps his head one, two, three times, just like when he was five and loud and incessant. “And they’re going to love it.” She said it like she’d granted him an old wish of his.

Derek grabs this day with greedy fingers and remembers later on how it was strong enough to wipe out any remembrance of when he was sad. That in this moment, he was happy. He latches on because he’s sure he’ll never feel this at peace again.

(A year and a half later he falls in love with Christopher Chow and William Poindexter and finds that peace in every moment with them.)

-

 Chowder always looks at Derek with such sincerity; it startles him. There’s a quiet moment they always share after he calls him “C”. Derek sees Chowder press his lips together, rolling them into his mouth and biting the bottom before spouting another one of his long-winded sentences.

Derek looks away and pushes the odd lump in this throat down, down, down.

-

They lose the championship.

Chowder rips his helmet off once he’s away from the crowds watching him. Watching the only person that comes between a puck and a net. The only person who let three pucks pass.

Derek winces when he hears the broken sob that gets caught in his chest.

One mistake and the season is over. He can’t help but think how cruel that is.

Dex is shaking. His anger turns to tremors that rack his frame.

Derek puts a hand on his back. He doesn’t shove it off.

Chowder and Dex crash with Derek in his room once they get back to Samwell and try to sleep off the throbbing ache in their chests.

-

Derek never put much thought into his birthday. Valentine’s Day has never mixed well with him as a klutz.  February 14th was just another birthday, and Valentine’s Day was just another holiday. It made him sad, for some reason. _Melancholy._ That pebble in his chest felt larger than usual. It’s not that they meant to, he’s sure, but Dex and Chowder didn’t get him a gift, didn’t even mention anything but a quick, “Happy birthday.” If it was anyone else, he knows he wouldn’t care. But it’s them. Of course he cares.

He had thoughts, fleeting as they were, about them. All of them. That maybe, just maybe, teammates don’t look at each other the way they’ve been looking at him. The three of them have fallen asleep together on the couch more than once. Derek didn’t allow himself to look into things that weren’t there, but sometimes… He indulged himself. And it still managed to hit him hard.

Besides, he’s 98% sure Dex and Chowder went on a date last week. Derek deserves this somehow, he’s sure.

 He’s struggling to fit the right key into his door, balancing the birthday pie Bitty made him in his other hand while his moms chatter in his ear. It’s nearly 10 PM and practice with the frogs, a five page essay, and spending the better half of the day at the Haus was more than exhausting.

He streams out responses as he pushes the door open and drops his coat on the floor. “Yeah, I got the gift. Thanks. No – no, that’s fine. I’ll see you for break soon anyways. Ye-“

He pauses. There’s the sound of shuffling feet and half shushes coming from the dark apartment. His roommate is gone until Tuesday. … _What._

“…I’ll call you back. Love you.”

He considers kicking off his shoes, but in the off chance he has to sprint, it might help to keep them on. Instead, he sets Bitty’s pie down on the ground and creeps his way around the corner. He knows the place inside out and in the dark; he doesn’t need to. There are candles – small tea candles, but they decorate the area that doubles as a kitchen and living room thoroughly. Derek squints in the faint light, trying to vaguely understand anything that’s happening. His eyes adjust enough to see two figures moving around that must have been making the noises earlier. He nearly bruises his finger when he flicks the switch to turn on the overhead lights out of complete panic.

Dex and Chowder both wince at the sudden brightness; Derek leans against the wall and wheezes out a weak, “Jesus _Christ_ , guys, what the fuck!” He clutches his chest and tries to still his heart. He’d given them a copy of his keys since they got closer in the past months, but they never showed up without warning.

Chowder immediately starts spewing out a quick apology, hands darting out, his voice unnaturally nervous. “Sorry, Nursey, really! We didn’t think you would be back already!” He smacks Dex’s arm. “Right?! We aren’t being creepy; tell him we aren’t being creepy!”

Dex yelps and rubs his arm, still squinting. “It’s kind of creepy, Chowder.”

Derek takes a second to look at the gift wrapped and sitting on the counter. It looks perfect, which can only mean either Bitty or Holster did it. The gears, as long as it takes, finally begin to turn in his head and he points at the two of them.

“Wait- you said you guys were, like, spending tonight at the library. And you didn’t even say anything today –“

The grin on Chowder’s face is all pure pleasure; Dex’s smirk kind of makes him look like a lovable smartass.

Derek’s hand falls to his side. “Oh.”

Dex leans against the counter; cocks his head. “Happy birthday, man.” Chowder chimes in, his grin still wide.

“We didn’t mean to make you feel… Y’know. Forgotten. But we wanted to, well, talk to you about some stuff! And also get some of Bitty’s pie because we had to skip it to set this up. But we knew you were busy, so.” Chowder’s voice is still weirdly high pitched and he shares a look with Dex that Derek can’t ignore. He isn’t sure how to feel, really.

He moves forwards and sets the keys next to the book he’d been reading on his counter. The first sentence – _My father is a king and the son of kings._ It started something like that. The words were racing through his head, despite his full knowledge that now was not the time. But it was a good book, a tragic book, an unfortunately relatable book – _Really, Derek, knock it off._ So he pushes the words away and looks at them both. “Talk about what?”

(

As poignant as his memories tend to be, Derek is fairly certain he blacked out after that. He still doesn’t remember what their birthday gift to him was. He knows they talked about themselves, about the idea of them being together. All of them. At the same time. Something he’s been picturing since he was still new to Samwell. But it’s still struggling to process as they all sleep in his bed like they have countless times before. The shock may have made him cry. The blackout seems more and more realistic… Though there is one small fraction of their long night that’s sure to sear in his brain. He feels Dex shift closer to wrap himself into his side; he knows that Chowder has his leg slung over all of them. He’ll feel sore in the morning, but right now, he feels absolute serenity.

)

-

It’s hot. Unbearably, unrealistically, unlawfully hot. Even with the windows down and Derek going about 90, there’s no way to slip away from the heat. Dex is sitting in the passenger seat next to him, adorning a Samwell tank and a surly frown. His hair is sticking up in unruly spots and his bangs are stubbornly stuck to his forehead with sweat. In a word, he looks miserable.

Derek, however, looks right at home in the desert heat. July has always been good to him. He keeps glancing at Dex, pursing his lips slightly. They’d just gotten out of California and into Nevada; if this is how the last 44 hours of their trip is going to go, it’s going to be a long ride back. He pushes his aviators up to rest in his hair and moves a hand from the wheel to tap Dex’s shoulder. “Arguing the entire way to Chowder’s place was better than this. What’s up?”

Dex crosses his arms, glares at the open road stretching in front of them. “Nothing.”

Derek sighs out an exasperated, “brah”, but drops it.

The sun’s starting to set before Derek manages to bother him enough to get him to spill. The sky’s orange, almost the same shade of Dex’s hair, but it’s quickly fading to a deep purple. Derek’s been talking nonstop for at least twenty minutes before Dex nearly yells, “Fuck, Nurse, okay! Would you shut up?” Derek responds by focusing on the highway, nods to tell him to go on. Dex almost sags into the seat. “I just- Chowder told his parents about us yesterday and they were okay with it. They were fine with it. Your moms knew since, like, before we even got together.” Dex pinches the nose of his bridge and takes a moment to breathe.  “And I just can’t fucking do that. I just want to do it already and there’s no way in hell that it’s happening. I feel like an asshole.”

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly. “Will, we’ve talked about this-“

“I know it’s not my fault, but- can’t you guys just realize how shitty it is sometimes?!” He’s pushing his bangs back, starting to get frustrated to tears, and Derek’s stomach twists sharply. He allows himself to agree.

“It’s shitty. You’re right. It’s shitty. But we’re not giving something like this up just because your parents suck. We’re always gonna be working on it.”

Dex’s voice is thick from the lump in his throat and Derek can see him pulling away, physically and mentally, for showing too much emotion than he likes to. “I know. It just fucking sucks.”

They call Chowder later and talk to him until Dex falls asleep. The worry in Chowder’s voice is clear despite the static of the call. Derek promises he’ll be okay. They miss Chowder already, he knows that much. Derek glances at Dex, curled in the seat with a permanent state of annoyance painted on his face, even in sleep.

“I love you,” Chowder says. And he means it. He always has.

“We love you too.”

-

Derek is twenty-two years old and graduating from Samwell University. It’s a weirdly balmy day for early May and his hands are too warm to be comfortable. People are outside of the Haus waiting for them, and their voices carry through the open window in Chowder’s room. Dex is in front of him, cheekbones flushed pink and mouth set into a nervous frown while Derek takes his time fixing the tie around his neck. He gives a small smile at the way Dex keeps his eyes darting around the room. “Y’know, Will, I’d be done by now if you stopped fidgeting.”

Dex huffs. “I’m not a kid, _Dad_.”

Derek tugs on Dex’s tie to pull him in for a chaste kiss and laughs at how flustered it still manages to make him, two and a half years later. He eventually regains composure and shoves Derek’s shoulder before sitting back on the bed. Chowder comes bouncing in seconds later with his cap and gown in hand. His smile, bigger than ever since his braces were taken off last summer break, takes up nearly half his face and he leans in to kiss each of his boyfriends. Both Dex and Derek angle themselves to meet him in the middle when it’s their turn, not quite wanting to let the moment go. They can’t get enough of Chowder in a suit and tie.

Seriously.

His usual energy fills up the room, though there’s a tinge of nervousness running in the air. Derek’s caught up in the way Chowder and Dex actually look like grown men; Dex’s jaw is more defined and Chowder’s face thinned out. They’re not the kids they were when they all met outside of Faber back as seniors in high school. A familiar swelling in his chest builds and Derek chooses to fix his already perfect cuffs rather than chance crying and getting chirped. The tail end of his newest tattoo – he’s gotten more than a few since he was seventeen – is showing out from under his thin white shirt and he mouths the words to himself. He knows exactly where Dex and Chowder’s matching ones are, that they’ll be hidden too, but he still checks to see if somehow he’ll spot them through their shirts. He remembers their promise to get tattoos for his 22nd birthday and bites back a laugh. They had let him choose everything – Dex’s only condition was that it couldn’t be each other’s names because, “That’s tacky! My uncle’s on, like, his fourth name!”

“ _Chemical names, bird names, names on fire,” Derek started. He spread his hands in front of him in the air, as if painting the words with them. “Each of us could have a different part, right?”_

_Dex crossed his arms, which, frankly, looked ridiculous when he had Chowder’s head in his lap and his in Derek’s. “I’m not putting the words ‘bird names’ on my skin.”_

_Chowder raised his hand like a kid in school and quickly spouted, “I’ll take that! It’s cute. I like it. Dex, you should take the one about names on fire.”_

_Dex closes his eyes slowly. “Is it because of my h-“_

_“Because of your hair!”_

_“Of course.”_

The words “chemical names”, each word written by Dex and Chowder, still feels electric on his lips. But if those words are electric, the thought of living with the two of them after graduation is lightning striking his core. He’s terrified of being done, of letting this chapter close and stay unchanging in the past. It’s been a wild four years – nothing compares to kissing Dex and Chowder on the ice after winning the championship when they were juniors or the countless nights they spent doing nothing until 3 AM – and there’s stability he’s saying goodbye to in this old Haus. He can only imagine what it’s like for his boyfriends, what with Chowder being captain and Dex his alternate. He leans against the wall and watches them murmur soft words with no meaning behind them as Dex tries to fix Chowder’s hair.

He thinks that words have only ever been hard when it comes to trying to describe how much he loves them.

He’s been quiet for too long, and they notice. Chowder gently holds Derek’s hand in his and watches him carefully.

Dex glances up at him (after their sophomore year, any height similarities went out the door) and jerks a thumb at the yard. “They’re waiting for us, you know. Bitty’ll kick the door down if we take too long.” The thought makes Chowder laugh by Derek’s side. Dex scoops the cap off of Derek’s desk and takes his time placing it on his head, fingers lingering on his cheeks. “Let’s go.”

Derek nods, still trying to shake the finality of it all out of his mind. He’ll get to spend every morning, evening, and night with them and it’s laid out like an old road he’s never travelled, yet still familiar. He can’t wait. They all take turns kissing each other the way they always have. “Okay. Let’s go.”

-

Derek is twenty-two years old and graduating from Samwell. He’s seventeen and in the living room with his parents. He’s fifteen and living in the aftermath of a panic attack in his room. He’s eight years old and learning about melancholy and the strangeness of it. Derek is eighteen and meeting Dex and Chowder for the first time. He’s eleven years old and covered in paint and words that never truly leave him. He’s nineteen and falling asleep in bed with his teammates, covered in bruises. He’s twenty-one and convincing his boyfriends that tattoos don’t hurt _that_ bad. He will be twenty-five years old and taking on two more names. He will be twenty-nine and falling asleep between his husbands like every night before for the past nine years. He is everything of that and more, wrapped inside each other like Russian nesting dolls. Hidden, but there.

But what anyone can see is that in this moment, Derek is twenty-two and in love with Christopher Chow and William Poindexter, and they are in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAA wow you know i had an outline for this and then i threw it out the window which is completely unsurprising. hope y'all enjoyed it!!!! it was a lot of fun to write and i got to go back into high school poetry hell to make this as cheesy as possible.. (if you have any questions about where i got any of the poems or quotes, lemme know!! i could go on about poetry for days)
> 
> happy holidays everyone!! hope it's a good one :^)
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/dopadee/) // [tumblr](http://www.dopadee.tumblr.com/)


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